


Lex Talionis

by artisan447



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447/pseuds/artisan447
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was inspired by Zeke Black's <a href="http://zekeblack.slashcity.org">Magnificent Seven Handbook</a>, wherein it says that we never saw Buck drunk in the series.  So as a result, all I could think about was a drunken Buck.</p><p>Thanks also to Charlotte for being kind enough to give this a once-over, and Mog for the ATF AU.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Lex Talionis

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Zeke Black's [Magnificent Seven Handbook](http://zekeblack.slashcity.org), wherein it says that we never saw Buck drunk in the series. So as a result, all I could think about was a drunken Buck.
> 
> Thanks also to Charlotte for being kind enough to give this a once-over, and Mog for the ATF AU.

"Jesus, Wilmington, you're an asshole of a drunk," Vin complained as he hauled the limp body out of the passenger seat of the Jeep and tried to work his shoulder under Buck's armpit.

Manhandling Buck wasn't something he'd normally attempt, even less likely if the man was being uncooperative. But tough times called for tough measures and Vin Tanner had never been one to back away from a challenge. And a falling-down-drunk Buck was definitely proving to be a challenge.

"Not drunk," came the slurred response as Buck, in a misguided fit of independence, pushed Vin hard in the chest and tried to stand on his own. Wasn't going to happen though, his knees sagged and he would have gone down in a heap if Vin hadn't lunged to grab hold of him.

"Yeah. You fuckin' are," Vin cursed. He ducked out of the way of flailing arms and shoved Buck against the side of the car; with that much support he at least had a halfway decent chance of keeping him upright. "You're drunk and stupid and if you make any more trouble I'll leave you right here on your face in the dirt," he threatened as he made another effort to get an arm around Buck's waist.

This time it worked, and he braced himself as Buck leaned against him and wound an arm around his neck. "Can get inside on my own," the whiskey-laden breath huffed into the side of his neck. "Don't need your help."

"Shut up Buck," Vin snapped, getting a firm grip on Buck's belt and turning his face away from the sour smelling breath. "Had enough bullshit from you tonight to last the rest of m' life."

He wasn't exaggerating either. He'd finally tracked Buck down in a seedy bar that he wouldn't have been caught dead in and it'd been all down hill from there. He'd only ever seen Buck happy drunk before, not this mix of obnoxious and belligerent, and he had to say he'd be a happy man if he never had to see him this plastered again.

"C'mon," he urged, pausing till Buck got his feet coordinated enough to help rather than hinder, then he dragged him forward. They managed to negotiate the steps and he propped Buck against the wall by the door, planting a shoulder solidly in his chest as he worked the key into the lock with one hand.

To think he'd missed the dirt bike rally for this aggravation.

By the time he had the door open and hauled them both inside, Buck was white and sweating and Vin headed straight for the bathroom.

"Vin--"

"Yeah, I know," Vin said, exasperated. "You enjoyed that whisky so much you're about to taste it again."

"I'm gonna--"

"Shut up," Vin said again, then swore when he banged an elbow on the doorframe and Buck stumbled and almost slid out of his hold. "Fuck! You puke on me now and I swear you ain't gonna live to see the sun rise," he threatened, adjusting his grip.

Either the threat worked or something was finally going his way because he managed to manoeuvre them both through the narrow doorway without further incident. When he let go and stood back, Buck went to his knees and heaved the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

"Better out than in," Vin muttered as the acid smell filled the small room, "but I reckon you can handle that on your own." He retreated to the corridor.

How the hell did a day go to shit so fast? he wondered as he headed to the kitchen.

It'd started out regular enough--normal prep, standard operation, till the point that Larabee'd gone and gotten himself shot. Then the rest had fallen apart. Oh sure, they'd gotten the punk dealers they'd put so much effort into tracking down, but that was hardly a measure of success by their standards.

Everybody safe and well and fillin' out the paperwork--that was the only measure of success Team Seven entertained.

Buck'd held it together while they secured the scene, but by the time they made it to the hospital he was a mess.

Not that anyone but the team would've noticed. Buck didn't do public scenes over something so near to that over-grown heart of his, but they'd all seen it--the worry in his eyes, the rough tremor of his hands, and the silence. That was the biggest give away of all--a quiet Buck was just not normal.

Vin put the coffee pot on and filled a glass with water then made his way back to the bathroom. Ibuprofen might be a good start--if he could at least get some into Buck he might stand a chance of getting some sense out of him.

When he stuck his head around the bathroom door, Buck was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bath, head down. Vin had never seen anything so pathetic in his life. He rifled through the cabinet over the sink till he found the bottle he wanted.

"Not so cocky now, hey Bucklin," he said and crouched by Buck's side.

"Shut up, Vin," Buck forced out and lifted his head. Eyes glazed and red-rimmed, he was about as miserable a sight as Vin had ever seen. "Would've been all right if you hadn't forced me into that rattlin' death trap you call a car," he complained.

Vin barked out a laugh. "Ungrateful bastard," he said and held out the glass. "Not my fault you live so far out of town."

Buck just dropped his head. "Ain't gonna be able to stomach that, might as well leave me here to die on the floor," he groaned, and Vin snorted.

"No such luck, you're gonna live to regret this one," he said and put the glass on the bench, the pills in his pocket and reached for Buck's arm. "C'mon pard, you aren't gonna die," he said as he half dragged Buck to his feet, "what you're going to do is sober up."

"You're a prick," Buck complained leaning heavily on Vin's shoulder as they worked their way down the corridor.

"Yeah and you're an asshole," Vin shot back, then grinned. "And if you think I'm tough, you're damned lucky Larabee isn't here right now to knock some sense into you."

That stopped Buck dead in his tracks as the flashback hit. "Chris---?" he rasped out involuntarily.

Vin could have bitten his tongue as the emotions crossed Buck's face--worry, fear, uncertainty. But on the good side, it looked like they were finally past obnoxious and on to something more manageable.

"He's okay," he reassured, deliberately keeping his tone light. "You saw him yourself and there ain't nothin' happened since you left." He thought for a second then amended the last thought. "Although, he was madder'n a cut snake when I phoned to tell him I finally found your ass and was draggin' it home."

It'd been late when Vin phoned Chris's room at the hospital expecting to leave a message, but a still fuzzy Larabee had commandeered the phone, demanding to know where Buck was. Vin'd given the sanitised version but, even with an anaesthetic hangover, Chris hadn't been fooled. Definitely mad, but mostly relieved and Vin knew him well enough to understand that "make sure you kick his ass," really meant, "take care of him."

"Fuck," Buck swore as he sagged again and Vin snorted as they staggered into the bedroom.

"Yep, you're in a world of shit," he confirmed, as they both almost fell onto the bed.

Buck groaned again then covered his face with his hands and collapsed back across the bed, legs dangling over the edge.

Vin didn't say anything more; what was the point? Looked like the drunken haze was starting to fade and it wasn't like anything he could say would measure up to that harsh reality of the situation anyway.

To say nothing of that fertile imagination of Buck's--when he spoke into the silence a few seconds later it became crystal clear exactly what Buck was thinking. "I thought--" he choked off, throat closing--the two words he did manage to force out raw with emotion.

"I know, pard," Vin answered, patting him on the knee then squatting to untie his shoes. "Scared the shit out of me, too."

Buck huffed out something that in another place and time might have passed for a laugh and rolled his head to the side. "Not sure how someone can bleed that much and still wake up spitting fire," he said, sounding more sober than he had any right to.

"Yeah," Vin agreed and stood. "He sure does take it personal, gettin' plugged."

He stared at the miserable figure on the bed for a second then changed his mind about offering advice. "It was still a damn stupid thing you did tonight," he said bluntly.

Buck didn't answer for a long minute and Vin took that as progress. It wasn't as if he had any defence, after all. Buck had broken every unwritten rule in the Team handbook tonight and he knew it.

Finally Buck levered himself upright and heaved out a sigh. "Yeah," he said looking morose. "I just--" he closed his eyes as he paused. "He was lying there on the ground with all that blood," he looked up at Vin and waved an arm vaguely, "and I guess I just--" he trailed off.

Just panicked Vin thought.

It was hardly surprising today's fuck up had thrown Buck for a loop.

Chris had taken a bullet high in the thigh and bled like a stuck pig. By the time the paramedics arrived he'd been unconscious. And chalk white. Vin'd seen his share of men die from arterial bleeds in the military and some of them hadn't looked as bad as Chris did, lying there in a dark red puddle with Nathan's fist jammed into his thigh.

"I know," he said and fished around in his pocket for the bottle of pills. "Here, hold these, I'll get the water."

He made a quick check of the coffee pot and then retrieved the glass from the bathroom. By the time he got back Buck had managed to get his shirt undone and slide his pants part way down, but had apparently stalled there. Sprawled out flat on his back on the bed, pants hanging loose around his thighs, it really wasn't a good look.

"C'mon, Buck," he urged, "you think I'm takin' your pants off, you got another thing coming."

"It ain't worth the effort, you might as well just get home now," Buck lamented. It was clear the second stage of falling-down-drunk recovery was maudlin.

"Oh no you don't," Vin had no intention of spending hours over this, "you ain't getting out of it that easy." He slapped Buck on the knee and urged him up. "C'mon pard, up and at 'em."

Buck scowled as he heaved upright again and Vin shook his head. That was the illustration of 'a mile of rough road' right there--pasty face, beard stubble and blood-shot eyes--the poor bastard really was suffering. Still, no need to pull his punches now he knew Buck was ok, and the man definitely deserved a little pay back for the worry he'd caused them all tonight.

"You aren't lyin' down relaxing," he said, handing over the tablets and standing over Buck while he swallowed them. "There's a few things you left undone tonight that just ain't gonna fix themselves."

Buck frowned, then awareness hit.

"Shit, my report!" he said, and ran a hand through his hair. "I forgot to file it."

"Nah," Vin shrugged, trying to keep a straight face, "that ain't a problem."

"Yeah, it is." Buck was adamant. "I made a start on the prelim while we were waitin' at the hospital but I never went back to the office to finish up." Vin watched and waited while Buck frowned and tried to fit the fragments of his memory together, then finally relented.

"Ezra did it," he said, supplying the missing piece and enjoying Buck's confusion.

"What?" Buck's frown deepened. "Ezra can't file my report. No-one'll believe it."

"Oh, I dunno," Vin replied, unperturbed, "Ezra seemed to think he could pull it off."

"C'mon Vin," Buck rejected the notion, "Ezra's reports are nothing like mine, and if Travis figures out Ezra did it, I'm history."

Vin struck a formal pose and then launched into a deliberately appalling Ezra impersonation that was, never the less, a close reproduction of Ezra's earlier assurance.

"You doubt mah language proficiency, Mistah Wilmington? I can assure you that in comparison to the skill required to master some dialects, reproducing 'Buck-speak' for a minor report is but a trifling concern."

For the final sealer, he waved one hand in a semi-circle in a genuinely Ezra-like gesture and Buck croaked out a disbelieving laugh.

"Oh, shit," he groaned, "we'll all be suspended." Then he brightened as a thought struck him. "Hang on, he won't be able to submit it anyway, he ain't got my password."

"JD does." Vin supplied, smugly.

Buck opened his mouth to reply and then shut it quickly.

"Yeah," Vin added, "and the way them two had their heads together over your keyboard, I reckon that's gonna be one interestin' piece of creative writing."

"Oh god," Buck lamented, falling back across the bed again and laying an arm melodramatically over his eyes, "forget the suspension, those two'll get me fired."

"Got just four words for you, pard. Con Se Quen Ces. Can't say you didn't bring it on yourself just up and disappearin' like that. Anyway," he continued, grinning, "that's not the worst of your worries." After all the crap he'd taken from Buck tonight it was time he had a little enjoyment.

"It's not?" Buck peered up at him sounding almost afraid to ask.

"Nope. Chris almost busted that artery wide open again tryin' to get out of bed when we couldn't work out where you'd lit off to."

That got Buck off the bed and moving, he almost bounced to his feet, but if Vin hadn't grabbed hold of one arm when his pants slipped down around his ankles, he'd have likely fallen flat on his face. He sat heavily back down on the bed, kicked his pants all the way off and glared at Vin.

"Thought you said nothin' happened?!" he scowled, and Vin grinned wider. Looked like they were past maudlin now and on to protective, things were definitely looking up.

"Well," he drawled, taking his time. "It ain't Chris you gotta mind over that one. Josiah's the one had to sit on him, keep that graft from poppin'. You know how Chris can be when he's comin' out of an anaesthetic and he ain't got a lick of sense in him if he thinks you're in trouble--it weren't like any of the rest of us had a chance of keeping him still."

"Josiah." Buck repeated, frowning. "So Chris is ok then?"

"Yep," Vin confirmed cheerfully, "right as rain. Josiah--now that's another story."

"Well what the hell's wrong with Josiah?" Buck asked, exasperated. There were obviously more than a few blank spots in his memory of the night but at least he seemed to know Josiah'd been okay when he'd last seen him.

"Weren't game to leave Chris on his own, seeing as how out of it he was. And you had your cell turned off and all." Buck at least had the grace to look guilty at that. "So Josiah stayed. Reckon he's still there," Vin said, knowing full well Josiah was the one who'd answered the phone an hour earlier.

Vin raised his eyebrows, waiting for Buck to catch on and then heaved out a deep sigh when all he got back was a blank face. "He was supposed to be goin' to see that show he spent so much time chasin' up tickets for," he explained. "You know, the one with that singer he's been mooning over for months."

"Emma Dubonet?" Buck almost squeaked. "You tellin' me that was tonight?"

"Reckon so."

"Oh God," Buck fell back on the bed again and Vin snickered.

"Yeah, last thing I heard he was quotin' the Good Book."

"Please tell me it wasn't Exodus," Buck muttered under his breath.

"Nope. Didn't get as far as an eye for an eye so you got somethin' to be grateful for. Mind you," Vin frowned, thoughtful, then brightened with the memory, "there was definitely something about smiting and swords."

Buck just groaned louder and covered both eyes with his hands, finally putting the pieces together and knowing there was more to come. "You might as well get on with it and tell me what I'm in hock to Nathan for. Can't imagine he ain't worked up a ledger as well."

"Well--" Vin paused for dramatic effect; waiting till Buck dropped his hands and gave him his complete attention. He'd kept the best for last and wanted to make sure of its full impact.

"Didn't find your car till well after midnight. Nate had to get Raine up so's they could go get it."

Buck sat up and looked genuinely horrified. "He went and got Raine out of bed?"

"You rather we left it down at the docks so it could be stripped clean by morning?" Vin asked.

"Well, hell, why didn't he get a cab?" Buck demanded. "He knows I'd cover it!"

Vin just raised his eyebrows. "And what cabbie do you reckon is gonna go down there in the middle of the night? Ezra and JD were kind of busy with that essay you left 'em to take care of and you know what I was doin'," he looked at Buck pointedly, "so there weren't no one else to take him."

Buck just stared, mouth open. It was no secret the big man had a soft spot a mile wide for Raine Jackson. Putting her to that kind of trouble just because he'd been selfish and stupid was so far over Buck's line of gentlemanly behaviour, he was speechless.

"That's right pard," Vin confirmed, "you got an awful lot of fence mending to do and you can start by cleaning up, getting some coffee into you and making an appearance down at Denver General so Chris can see for himself you ain't done any permanent damage. Now come on and get yourself movin'."

For a minute Buck just stared, seeming to have trouble processing what he'd heard and Vin crouched in front of him again. "Buck?" he queried and tapped him on the knee.

"Yeah?" Buck replied, and then he nodded and seemed to focus. "Yeah, ok--you gonna be able to drive me back to town?"

Vin smiled and slapped Buck's thigh. "What the hell do ya think I'm here for," he grinned as he stood. "You want the shower first, or the coffee?"

Buck looked up and rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Shower," he responded, looking suitably remorseful. "Guess I'd better shave too."

"Yeah," Vin agreed with more than a tinge of sarcasm, "guess you'd better." God only knew how many bars Buck had been in tonight, but he stank of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and whiskey. And even though he seemed to be sobering up fast enough, it wouldn't hurt to give him a hurry-on.

Vin went to the closet to drag out some clean clothes but with the door open, he paused. It wasn't hard to see what belonged to who--Buck's eclectic taste in shirts and pants on one side and Chris's more predictable and sombre outfits on the other. As evidence of the two's together-ness it wasn't something he hadn't seen before--Buck and Chris had been a couple the entire time he'd known them, but they weren't prone to open displays of affection and Vin honest-to-god didn't think of them as anything other than his workmates and friends.

Maybe it was just the trauma of the day that brought things into sharper focus, but seeing their personal things together like that suddenly brought home to him exactly how much Buck'd had to lose if things had played out different today. To say he felt a little guilty for his teasing wouldn't be an exaggeration.

He grabbed a shirt and pants and went back to where Buck still sat on the bed. "C'mon, big guy," he said, more gently, "let's get this show on the road. Might be a good plan to get to the hospital before Larabee wakes up and starts wonderin' where you are."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than his cell started to vibrate in his pocket.

"Yeah?" he answered the call, watching while Buck struggled out of his shirt.

"Vin?" Speak of the devil--he should have expected to hear Chris's disembodied voice. "You home yet?"

"Yeah, pard, safe and sound," he reassured as Buck looked toward him and frowned. "What're you doin' still up?" he asked, it had to be close to 3am.

"Buck all right?" came the query, Chris ignored his question, and Vin smiled. He shouldn't be surprised--those two were like an old married couple the way they bitched and snipped one minute and worried over each other the next.

"Well," he drawled, "I think he's gonna have a few regrets in the morning, but yeah, other than that he's ok."

"Hey," Buck protested, reaching out a hand and beckoning for the phone. "That Chris?" he queried, looking hopeful and Vin rolled his eyes and held out the receiver.

"Hey stud," Buck said, and Vin couldn't help but notice how both his voice and face softened as he spoke. "You ok?"

Buck listened to the reply then nodded, mouth curving into a smile. "Yeah," he said, voice like honey, "course I'm fine, got Vin right here with me, ain't I?" he looked up at Vin and winked.

Vin just snorted and shook his head. Time to sort out the coffee--some conversations just didn't need to be overheard.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ominous shadows and a menacing dread filled his sleep and he woke anxious and unsure.

He knew where he was and why, but not when. Anaesthetics always messed up his internal body clock and he was ridiculously angry that he had no sense of the passage of time--how long had passed since the surgery, since Vin phoned...or since Buck had bolted from his room in a blind panic. His gut clenched and he didn't have to look any further to know the true source of his unease.

Vin said Buck was fine, that they were headed home, and he trusted Vin like no one else. So how come he couldn't shake the apprehension that had persisted since JD let slip that Buck had taken off?

Not the kid's fault, he hadn't realised Chris was awake, and Chris had enough honesty in him to be a little embarrassed by his somewhat irrational response. But while the others had tried to calm and reassure--and in the end he was pretty sure he could remember Josiah almost sitting on him when he'd been intent on getting out of bed to go find Buck himself--they'd none of them understood the basis of his fear.

Buck didn't run out when things got rough. He just didn't. He dug in like a dog with a bone and turned his considerable energy to putting whatever was wrong, right. He'd only ever run out on Chris once in the entire time they'd known each other, and only then because he'd been scared to death that Chris wasn't going to make it.

Just like now. And if that didn't scare anyone else, it sure as hell scared Chris, because the last time Buck left was when Chris had been intent on putting himself into an early grave and Buck hadn't come back. It'd been left to Chris to pull himself together and search Buck out and he'd be damned if he'd put either of them through that again. If not for himself, then for Buck, because he knew exactly how that episode had changed his friend--and not for the better. He didn't need Buck back in that place--wary and on guard, resigned to the worst, and afraid to open up that big heart of his for fear of getting hurt.

He hoped to God that Vin was right. That this was a temporary blip and that The Good Ship Buck would be back sailing in calm waters as soon as he sobered up; realised that this time wasn't anything like that other time, and that Chris really was fine. But he just wasn't able to take someone else's word for it, not even when that someone was Vin.

He tried to shift his ass and gasped as the dull ache in his leg flared to a bright searing pain that wrapped around his hip and abdomen and raced up into his chest.

"Steady on," a deep voice soothed and the pump controller was pressed into his hand

He sucked in a tight breath and pressed the button once, then waited as the narcotic did its job.

"Thanks Josiah," he croaked out, clutching the sheet tight in his free hand and making a determined effort to not move the lower half of his body, grateful when the pain eased. He opened his eyes and turned his head to find the big man in the shadows. "Must be late, why don't you get off home?" he said.

Josiah leaned forward in the chair and Chris could see his smile as the low light from over the bed illuminated his face. "Not much point in that, might as well wait till morning now," he said then stood and filled a glass with water.

Chris had to almost unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth to accept the straw and then savoured every drop of the wonderfully cool liquid that flowed down his throat.

"Thanks," he finally said as he relaxed against the pillows. The warm haziness that had started in his arm spread up and out, making his limbs feel heavy and his head, light. If he just closed his eyes he might even go back to sleep...

But the apprehension didn't ease and it seemed even the drugs couldn't relax him enough to drop off. He soon gave up the struggle and opened his eyes again. Josiah was sitting back, reading the paper in the low light, seemingly unconcerned.

"You know what time it is?" Chris asked feeling stupid.

"'bout an hour later than when you asked last time," Josiah responded, not even lifting his head and Chris closed his eyes again, unaccountably irritated.

"Right," he bit out. God only knew why he felt so annoyed.

Josiah lowered the paper and stared at him for a long moment then reached forward and picked up the phone. "You aren't going to sleep properly till you know he's okay," he said and held it out. "Talk to Vin."

"I already talked to him, Josiah," he snapped back. "No need to keep phoning every five minutes."

"It's been more than five minutes, Chris," Josiah said calmly, "and there's nothing wrong with checking to make sure they made it home okay. Besides," he added, "Vin's had time to settle down as well by now. He'll be more likely to tell you exactly what Buck got up to."

"Oh come on, Josiah," Chris scoffed, "there's no way Vin's ever spilling the beans to me on that, no matter how pissed he is at Buck."

Josiah's deep bass chuckle filled the room and Chris scowled. Whatever happened to respect and awe of the leader?

Josiah just stood and folded the paper then tossed it on the chair. "The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness," he said cryptically. He dropped the phone near Chris's hand and then was gone out the door.

Chris was irritated enough to not do it, just out of spite. Who did Josiah think he was, talking in riddles and ordering him around like a schoolboy? But after a few minutes of clutching the phone to his chest his self-interest came to the fore and he punched in the numbers.

Vin answered after a couple of rings. "Yeah?" he said, sounding distracted.

"Vin?" his arms felt like rubber and he had to concentrate to keep the phone pressed against his ear. "You home yet?"

"Yeah, pard, safe and sound," Vin reassured, then quickly added, "what're you doin' still up?"

Making my Christmas shopping list, he felt like answering, irritation rising again, but he plain didn't have the energy for sarcasm. "Buck all right?" he asked instead.

"Well," Vin drawled, "I think he's gonna have a few regrets in the morning, but yeah, other than that he's ok."

"Hey!" he heard an annoyed interjection and before he could speak again, the deep honeyed tone he most needed to hear was rich in his ear.

"Hey stud," Buck said. "You ok?"

Chris lay with the phone pressed close to his ear and let the warmth of those few words flow over and around him. "Yeah," he finally answered, relieved. "You?"

"Yeah," Buck echoed, the smile clear in his voice, "'course I'm fine, got Vin right here with me, ain't I?" he added and Chris felt an answering grin spread across his own face. Buck sounded good. Normal. Like everything was fine.

"You sound tired," Buck said, knowing Chris too well, and Chris could almost feel his lover's desire to reach down the phone line and wrap those long arms tight around him.

"I'm fine," he reassured and for a long minute they were both silent, Chris content to listen to the silence. But more than that--just knowing Buck was on the other end of the line seemed to release the anxiety that had held him so tense, let the morphine work properly, and he was afraid that if he did open his mouth and speak the only thing that would come out would be something that would scare the shit out of Buck. Something like, 'I love you,' or 'I need you to be all right.' Or 'don't leave me.'

He tried to order his thoughts, make his tongue move the way he wanted, but when he finally did manage to speak, the only words his stupid mouth could form were: "I'm sorry."

Buck barked out a laugh, sounding incredulous. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry I scared you," he clarified, but stalled there and hoped Buck would understand.

"Aw, Chris, c'mon now, don't do that," Buck admonished, "you're fine, I know that," and then a beat before he added, "I'm fine too."

"You're not drunk?" he queried, asking a whole other question.

"Nah," Buck answered, reading him perfectly. "Sober as a judge. Ain't no reason to be getting drunk now, is there?" he finished and Chris finally let go, satisfied.

"No," he agreed. New warmth had sprung to life somewhere in the middle of his chest and long tendrils grew and spread as he lay still and listened, "no reason."

"Ok," Buck said, and it sounded like he was moving. "I'm gonna clean up a bit then Vin's gonna drive me back to town. You think you could manage some breakfast?"

"Sure," he said. Right now he'd probably agree to anything--even lying down he felt light-headed, buoyant. Surprisingly, he didn't give a damn. "I'll wait here," he mumbled and Buck laughed.

"Go on, stud," he said, and Chris could hear the affection, "go to sleep."

"Yeah," he replied as the languor spread. The phone felt like a brick in his hand and it was all he could do to squeeze out a couple more words. "'night Buck." He fumbled around for the button to end the call but his fingers were clumsy as tree trunks and in the end he just relaxed and dropped the handset. Someone else could fix it.

The last thing he heard was Buck's faint but distinct "Love you," and he smiled. He didn't need to reply. He rarely said the words and Buck had long ago given up trying to make him. He just didn't want to say them all the time. "I love you" didn't come easy because it was special and demanded a particular weight and meaning, and he refused to trivialise it by tagging it on to the end of every sentence, like saying, "have a nice day", or "you're welcome".

But this day held the promise of being a good one, and even special words needed to be said sometimes. "Love you," he breathed as he drifted off, not at all concerned there was no one there to hear him.

 

\--the end--

**Author's Note:**

> Title:  
> 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' a quotation from Exodus 21:23-27, expresses a principle of retributive justice also known as lex talionis (Latin for "law of retaliation").
> 
> 'The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness.'  
> Source: Ecclesiastes (ch. II, v. 14)


End file.
